


Pleas In The Night

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Biting, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Kissing, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 03:57:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18241892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: “What’s that, my lad?” she asked, nipping the back of his ear and making him whimper. “You want it?”“Yes,” Maladict said, aware of how he drew out the sibilance in the word without meaning to: it was always difficult to keep track of his carefully cultivated voice when Polly was working her magic on him, was difficult to keep track of anything. “Polly, Polly, please—”





	Pleas In The Night

Maladict was breathing shallowly, Polly’s pack dragged up beneath his chest, his arm wrapped tight around it with his face pressed into the bunched-up blanket so that the desperate, panted moans he couldn’t help but let out were muffled by the fabric. His other hand was fisted in the long grass beneath them, and Polly was up behind him, one of her knees entangled with his, her mouth against the back of his neck.

She wouldn’t stop _biting_ him.

And he didn’t want her to stop, oh no, he did _not_ want her to stop, but the way she bit him struck right into his _core_ , hit him like a lightning strike and set his every instinct alight: it was good, hot pain, and she never broke the skin, but she bit _hard_ – she bruised him, and marked him, left an _exhibition_ of pink and blue marks over his back, his neck, the upper parts of his arms, marshalled in their places.

She grabbed his arse, when she did this.

Polly liked his arse, and Maladict didn’t at all mind: she’d never understood, she’d told him, why men felt such a compunction to pinch people’s arses or smack them, but she understood it now. She liked to see the flesh jump, she said, liked to feel it give under her hand. She liked the way he jumped and moaned and gasped, like to see him arch his back or try to wrap his legs around her waist, liked to see how _desperate_ he became.

He was desperate now.

Polly’s hand was massaging his arse, a strong, calloused palm dragging hard at the flesh, occasionally dipping between them and dragging down between his buttocks, playing over the inside of his arsecheeks. He heaved in gasps between his panted moans, ripping at the grass and being unable not to.

He was dripping wet.

His cunt was _aching_ , fat and flush and _ready_ , and he spread his knees a little farther apart, his thighs spreading, and Polly laughed against the back of his hair, her breath hot on his skin, and then she slapped his arse.

She had strong hands, and strong _arms_ , and it was one thing to have vampiric strength, but he was _sensitive_ , he was drawn out and he was excited and he was _sensitive_ , and when she smacked him, by whatever gods were out there, he felt it. It hit him with the force of a thunderclap, making his hips jolt and grind against bare air, and she laughed at him.

“What’s that, my lad?” she asked, nipping the back of his ear and making him whimper. “You want it?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Maladict said, aware of how he drew out the sibilance in the word without meaning to: it was always difficult to keep track of his carefully cultivated voice when Polly was working her magic on him, was difficult to keep track of _anything_. “Polly, Polly, please—”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Polly murmured, and sucked a mark onto the side of his neck, squeezing tightly at the base of his thigh. “Please what?”

“Anything,” Maladict slurred against the blanket, trying to grind back against Polly’s hand. He didn’t reach back to touch himself – he could have. He _could_ have. But he liked the way she teased, loved the way she worked him up into a lather until he felt he would burst into flames and turn to ashes, loved that it was _agony_.

“Anything?” Polly repeated. “What if I take you for a nice, bracing march, my lad?”

“ _No_ —”

“Oh, but that’s _anything_!”

“No, Polly, Polly, please, please, just—”

Her hand moved fast, her palm clapping against his open cunt, grabbing a fistful of his mound and _squeezing_ , and he all but screamed against her pack. She liked to do this – she grabbed his whole cunt like another girl might grab a cock, taking hold of him either side of the thick, pillowy flesh of his outer lips, and she’d roll the whole thing between her fingers, squeeze his clit as tightly as anything and make him grind into her hand.

He rolled his hips down against her hand, and then she dipped her fingers in the slick at his hole, wetting her fingertips before she played them either side of his clit, against the soft, sensitive skin of his inner lips, delicately stroking it, and Maladict cried out.

“ _Polly_ ,” he begged. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—”

“On your back,” Polly barked in his ear, and Maladict shuddered as he scrambled to obey, lying back on the grass, his legs spreading as he let her get between his thighs, her fingers sliding easily into him even as she leaned to kiss him.

It was savage, the way Polly kissed.

She kissed like she was trying to kill him for good, kissed like she was a hurricane, kissed like she was everything—

And she was.

He came over her fingers, keening into her mouth, and she _laughed_ , and he loved her. He loved her. He _loved_ her.

“Let me touch you,” he said breathlessly, and she laughed, sliding her wet fingers into his mouth, making him suck at them.

“Alright,” she murmured, looking down at him as he laved his tongue over her fingers. “I’ll let you use your tongue.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up [on Dreamwidth](https://dictionarywrites.dreamwidth.org/2287.html). You can send requests [on Tumblr](http://patricianandclerk.tumblr.com/ask), too. Requests always open.


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